


The Slow Approach

by greygerbil



Category: Stanton & Barling - E.M. Powell
Genre: First time with a man, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Porn with Feelings, first time sleeping together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 10:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18386693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: Stanton has never had sex with a man, and Barling's last time attempting a relationship with one did not go well. Now both stand excited but nervous before the idea of reaffirming their affection by sleeping together.





	The Slow Approach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DoreyG](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/gifts).



> I hope you'll enjoy this treat. I'm so happy someone else likes these two!

They would go to bed together tonight.

It was, Barling supposed, only natural, if you accepted what they did as in any way natural, at least. He would confess it still was difficult for him at times, and yet, the look of true, unspoiled affection in Stanton’s heaven-blue eyes would have to be devil’s finest handiwork of all ages, should it really come from him. Two weeks ago, after the tumultuous end to a robbery case they had been investigating, which had concluded with both of them in the lair of their targets and escaping only by the virtue of some quick ideas, Stanton had suddenly hauled Barling in by the elbow once they had a moment to themselves and pressed their mouths together. Barling had thought his heart would stop right then and there. Fortunately, he was not that old yet, and so he had been granted the singular pleasure of embracing Stanton and sharing in the kiss, so passionate it had made Barling forget how clumsy and unpractised his mouth had to feel on Stanton’s, and also the rest of the world for a moment.

Afterwards, however, there had not been much chance to deepen their relationship in a physical manner. They had stayed with the lord of the village, where servants were always about. On the journey back, the weather was cold and wet, rain and snow alternating, hardly inviting a swerve off the muddy road into some unseen grey meadow – as Stanton had bemoaned in a jest, laughing at Barling’s scandalised reply that even in high summer that would hardly have been an option. The inns they visited had only rooms which allowed for too many guests at once to consider slipping under the other’s blanket. Once returned to London, Barling was needed by esteemed justice de Glanville for some administrative matters, keeping him from Stanton entirely.

It was really only the last of these that had caused Barling any distress, for he disliked being separated from Stanton for days. He was still overwhelmed with the idea that Stanton, this man who could most times have the prettiest women in any given room flushing just by showing them his bright smile, had somehow set his sights on him, a middle-aged bureaucrat who even in his youth had never been anything more than plain; that Stanton found charm in Barling’s behaviour, which was intended to keep people at a reasonable distance; that the disgraceful account of Barling’s pathetic conduct around Richard had not in any way deterred him from seeing him as a potential lover. It all seemed unreal at times, and Barling still braced himself for the moment that he opened his eyes and woke, head on a pillow and the night surrounding him. Just being around Stanton, feeling a furtive touch on his back or a lingering hand on his shoulder, speaking with a new slant of affection in their voices – what else could he ask, really? It was already so much more than he had ever hoped for again.

But Stanton was a young man who liked to take his pleasure and it was not like Barling was opposed to the idea. He did remember that he used to enjoy it, even if he had tried to bury those memories for so many years. And yet…

He’d finally had time to ask Stanton over to his home. No one would think anything of it. They were master and pupil, after all. It also helped that people who knew Barling seemed to think him about as likely to engage in acts of the carnal as a chair might be. It was an image he had cultivated carefully and it had served him well – so far. He was supposed to seduce a man tonight, though. What if he failed? He was well aware how much Stanton liked sex – him looking after one girl or another had diverted them often enough. Barling remembered more from his time with Richard than he should for decency, but perhaps Stanton would realise that his attraction was only for the softer female bodies, after all, once he touched Barling. Even if not, Stanton’s lovers were usually much more pleasing to the eye than Barling, and likely more experienced, too.

Now Barling was silently pacing the main hall of his home, listening to the splash of water in a metal bowl in the adjacent room as Stanton refreshed himself after his walk here. He had opened a bottle of wine for Stanton’s benefit, which his pupil had been glad for. After a moment’s hesitation, Barling found himself grabbing another cup from the neat row on his shelf and pouring himself some, too. Only a mouthful. He had no intention of getting drunk and absolutely guarantee he’d make a fool of himself, so far as it wasn’t already a certainty. He just wanted to calm his nerves and this seemed to be the only available way to go about it right now. Usually when he was in a situation where reason left him, he reminded himself that emotion had no place in the law, and didn’t help when you tried to mediate a disagreement, or solve a problem that had arisen in the office.

But that didn’t work here – this was all emotion. Needed to be. Of course he would not be very good at it.

“You’re drinking?”

Stanton stood in the doorway and looked at Barling like he’d grown a pair of wings. Barling cursed himself silently for not being quicker to put the bottle down, straightening a little.

“Am I not allowed?” he asked, curtly. “You do it often enough.”

“Well, certainly, but don’t pretend you join in at every tavern,” Stanton said as he walked over to the table.

“And what a good thing that is. One of us has to make sure we end up in the right rooms afterwards,” Barling answered dryly.

Stanton just grinned at him as he lifted his own cup. “To our health,” he suggested.

Barling answered the toast by raising his cup before he knocked back the contents. After so many years without, the alcohol was bitter on his tongue, erasing all taste, good or bad, that the wine might have. It burned down his throat and spread with cloying warmth through his chest. Something else than his ridiculous nerves to focus on, at least.

“I’ve never been in your home before,” Stanton noted.

“Is it what you expected?” Barling asked, looking around him as he had seen Stanton do when he’d entered.

His surroundings were very austere. A few well-made but unadorned pieces of furniture. Some manuscripts and other texts he had been able to acquire over the years on a shelf. Everything kept neat and tidy, or so he hoped. He would have to admit to fussing over it a bit today, knowing Stanton would come.

“This is not going to turn into a lesson, is it?” Stanton asked, playfully suspicious. “About assumptions and all that.”

Barling made sure his expression remained stern. “Now that you mention it…”

Stanton groaned. “Well, I’ll say this: apart from the books and scrolls, the place kind of looks like nobody really lives here.”

Cocking his head, Barling gave a small nod. He supposed that was fair. “When I am in London, I prefer to spend my time at work. There has never been much of a reason to amass belongings here.”

“Well, I’ve only seen your entrance hall and the washing room,” Stanton said, sipping his wine. “You haven’t shown me your bed chamber yet. And as you taught me, one should have a complete picture before casting judgement…”

This time, Barling could not suppress the smile anymore. “I have a feeling you’re less interested in the kitchen?”

“I could see that in the morning?” Stanton asked, clearly hopeful.

_In the morning._ Barling had thought about that, too. It would not be suspicious for his pupil to be here even overnight. Barling could have been teaching him law late into the evening, after all, and Stanton only had a tiny, dirty hovel of a room at the edge of the city to live in that didn’t exactly beckon when Barling had a perfectly good guest chamber ready. That was not even to mention the danger of long walks in London nights. It was logical for him to stay, in truth. Richard had never let Barling stay the night, or stayed himself, though, and so Barling had squashed the fantasies of waking up next to anyone. It was so strange to find them now reflected in Stanton’s voice.

“Yes, certainly,” he mumbled, suddenly overwhelmed.

For desperate want of something to do with his fingers, he poured both of them some more wine. Barling went in to grab his cup from the table, or so Barling thought; in reality, he reached for Barling and pulled him close. Stanton wasn’t the tallest man, but Barling even less so, and he found himself engulfed in his embrace. Belatedly, he hugged him back, happy for his warm, solid form in his arms.

“God’s eyes, it’s been too long,” Stanton muttered. “I hope de Glanville is finished with you for now.”

“It’s his right to command me,” Barling said, but the way he held on to Stanton made his words a lie. In truth, he’d wished the same. “I am grateful that there now seems to be a lull in extra duties, though.”

Stanton hummed and moved his forearm against the side of Barling’s head so that he was pressed to look up. He kissed Barling with the sweet urgency of a lover, tender yet demanding, and his hand landed on Barling’s hip. The combination of gestures drew liquid fire from Barling’s core, a burst of sudden want, and he was so little used to such wild demands of his own instincts anymore that he felt himself tensing, frightened at the thought of needing so much, and the possibility of being pushed away regardless, as had happened before.

Stanton stopped, pulling his head back. Barling found himself cross with Stanton’s attentiveness to detail, even as he was touched by the look of concern in his eyes, knowing a less caring man would simply have ignored Barling’s reaction even had he noted it.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, quite,” Barling said, taking care to sound unaffected. “I was just surprised.”

“You’ve seemed a bit off since I came in, is all.”

Stanton’s hand had moved up to his side, which should have been a more innocuous place for it, but at this time made very little difference to Barling’s wanton body. God, he felt twenty again. But he had no idea what to say and evidently in his groping for an answer, he had taken too long, for Stanton’s face shifted to a smile, hiding the disappointment Barling had seen for a flicker of a moment.

“You know, I don’t mind not seeing the bedroom tonight. Show me to the kitchen. I haven’t supped yet and you know I can always eat.”

No, this was not how Barling wished this to go. After all, he did want this, more than a well-mannered man should. Besides, Stanton knew more about him than any other person on this earth – had heard the whole sad story of Paris, and had gotten to know him closely in their work together. Now should not be the moment to start evading him with half-truths and lies.

“I think my head is still too caught up in the sorry end of – everything that happened in Paris,” he admitted, both to Stanton and to himself. Why else would he suspect Stanton of being callous, imagine his eyes growing hard and cold like Richard’s had, as the inevitable end to the sweetness he showed him now? It certainly was not because of anything inherent to Stanton’s being.

Stanton’s hand on him gripped more firmly. “You know I would not treat you like that, right?” The look on his face was all honest shock.

“Of course not,” Barling said, meaning it, as he placed a hand over Stanton’s heart. It beat too fast. “You have a kindness in you that would forbid it, even if I had transgressed in some way to deserve it. You’re a good man.”

“And I doubt you have it in you to do anything that you deserve to be thrown about for,” Stanton said and pulled him flush against him again, Barling’s hand trapped between them. “But at least I won’t be the only one who is worrying,” he added, with a small, awkward laugh.

“If you realise that you cannot find pleasure in a male body, you need only tell me,” Barling said. “We will stop.”

Stanton looked down at him with surprise. “No, that’s not it. I’m rather sure about that. I have thought about it a lot, about you. Late, alone...”

“Stanton!” Barling chastised, as he grasped the meaning of his words.

Stanton laughed at him, well-deservedly so. Right before he was taking off his clothes for a man was likely not the moment to grow scandalised over a bawdy joke – if it was one. Barling shoved away the thought of Stanton taking himself in hand to the thought of him, the wondrous excitement to think that he could cause such reactions in him, for it would distract him too much now.

“But then what do you worry about?”

“I do know how it’s supposed to go between two men, and if you’d allow me – but what if I hurt you? What if I can’t figure out how to lie with a man in a way you enjoy at all?”

Barling did swallow a truth now, which was that as long as Stanton was undressed in bed with him, he had a feeling that he would never be let down, even if all Stanton did was lie there like a plank and wait to be serviced. However, aside from his pride rebelling at putting that in words, he did not wish to make light of Stanton’s concerns.

“Tonight is not the last night we share a bed, I hope. Things can come in their own time. Let’s just see where it takes us.”

“That’s true,” Stanton said, though the relief in his voice proved that perhaps hearing it had been needed. Lord, Stanton really was in love with him, wasn’t he? Barling could still scarcely believe it most of the time. “If it doesn’t bother you.”

“No.” Barling reached up and, with a little push to his confidence, took Stanton’s face in hands, pulling him down into a kiss.

They steered towards the doorway of the bedroom still touching and tasting each other, the rushes rustling under their slow steps. Barling found himself staggering briefly, unable to focus on walking and kissing at once, but Stanton caught him, lips curving against Barling’s mouth in a smile.

Barling had put fresh sheets on his bed before Stanton had come, white as snow over the hay that filled the wooden frame. The bed was too narrow for two people. He had never seen the need to buy anything bigger, convinced he would not again share this space with another in all his remaining lifetime. He’d never been so happy to be wrong about something before as he was when Stanton sat down on the edge of the bed with him now.

Licking his lips as they parted, Barling looked Stanton over once. He was not, of course, the type to really let things just go as they pleased, as he’d told Stanton they should. He liked to have a plan of attack in all he intended to do, and this was no different and in fact a lot more important to him than many other things. There was an idea he had for Stanton to get more comfortable which would not take him too far out of the realms he knew.

Stanton distracted him by yanking him closer into a tight hug and then dragging him sideways onto the bed, running one hand up under his clothes.

“I can’t wait to see underneath those black robes of yours. Even your sleeping clothes are the same thing in softer fabric,” he teased.

“I don’t know what you expect to be waiting there,” Barling murmured, as much flattered as he felt it was necessary to temper expectations.

He had never been handsome, and years of ascetic living had turned his already slight frame angular with bones, which should be obvious to anyone taking a look at him even with his clothes on. However, Stanton eagerly pulled off the thick layers of fabric until Barling laid exposed to the world in the soft light of the lantern on the table across the room, and somehow the unimpressive sight of him did not seem to stifle the greed in Stanton’s gaze in the slightest. Like dry kindling held close to a flame, Barling felt himself set alight by his desire.

Not that help was needed to find something to like when looking at Stanton, who now rid himself of his own clothes with haste. He was all lean muscle over a well-built frame, beaming smile brightening his blue eyes, wild blond locks. Barling would have felt inadequate next to him if Stanton hadn’t kissed him with such fervour that it suddenly seemed unimportant.

The slide of their warm bodies against each other stole his breath, but it was the tenderness of Stanton’s kisses that wrenched a sound from him as his hands followed the plane of Stanton’s back upwards, gripped his strong arms, moved up to run his fingers through his hair, committing each part of him to memory to have for lonelier nights. Stanton’s strong thigh was between his and though Barling considered himself long past his prime, he found his manhood rose just from the pressure. Likewise, he felt Stanton’s length pressing into his flat stomach, tangible proof of his attraction. The playful joy of knowing he would get to please him was an old feeling so long buried that pulled on Barling’s nerves, more intoxicating than the wine he’d had. He reached between them and took a hold of Stanton’s cock, watching the flush rise higher on the young man’s face with satisfaction.

“Forgive my lack of skill. I have not really done this in a while – not even for myself,” Barling murmured, as he dragged his thumb along the hard flesh in his hand.

“No?” Stanton asked with a laugh. “God, how can you deny yourself everything? How do you even spend your evenings here?”

“The only thoughts that would excite me were ones I considered shameful. Out of all, this was the easiest thing not to do.”

Stanton’s broad hand cupped his face. It was a lover’s gesture, gentle and intimate, and Barling’s heart stumbled in his chest.

“I hope you’re not ashamed now.”

“No,” Barling said.

Well, it was not wholly true. But he would try not to be, for being ashamed of his love for Stanton would mean to see what they had as less than good, and it was not, all texts of the depth of hell aside. Unlike his relationship with Richard, where he had been constantly begging for attention, this was pure in its intentions from both sides.

“And as to how I spend my time, one need not give in to drink or food or lust. I have had many a fulfilling evening studying the intricacies of the texts of law,” Barling added, trying to bring back a lighter tone.

Stanton groaned.

“You’ll crumble to dust like an old scroll if I don’t help you,” he muttered into his ear and pulled the lobe with his teeth.

Barling dragged his hand down Stanton’s shaft and gave it a firm squeeze, delighting in the low moan right against his ear.

“Well, then....”

With a gentle shove, he directed Stanton off of him and reached for a chest by the bed. In preparation for this and hopefully other evenings, he had bought a small vial of oil. It would ease the way.

He uncorked it, dripped some on his fingers and then closed it up again, placing it by the pillow. He reached for Stanton’s his manhood once more, stroking it under Stanton’s hungry gaze, until the skin was damp and slippery.

“I figured we could start out with something you know. The paid women you like to frequent have certainly let you go between their thighs before...”

Barling may only have had one rather pitiful night with a whore, but he knew many of them preferred this to the risk of pregnancy. Supposedly most customers found it disappointing; Stanton grinned at the suggestion, though.

“I like that,” he said, reaching out for Barling again.

Barling gave him another quick kiss before he turned around and stretched out on his side. Hopefully Stanton would find his thighs just as inviting, even if they were not as shapely as those of a woman, and in comparison even to most men rather pitiful, neither very muscular nor formed especially well.

His worried thoughts were dispersed once more by Stanton, hand teasing his side, mouth on the back of his neck, eagerly moving in behind him. Barling lifted his leg a little and felt Stanton’s slick manhood slide between his thighs, then closed them again, allowing for the friction Stanton would want. Stanton made a rough, wordless sound that Barling could feel in the pit of his stomach.

There were a couple of slow, dragging thrusts at first, but Stanton had never been a patient man, and soon enough he snapped his hips forward in earnest, fucking between Barling’s thighs as Barling made sure to keep them tightly together. His own breath quickened as he felt the force of Stanton’s body move against him, imagined how it would be to have Stanton push into him, the firm grip on his hip holding him in place like he did now, fixing him for Stanton’s pleasure which Barling was so eager to provide...

He was so lost that he jumped in surprise when Stanton grabbed him harder and turned him, quite easily putting him onto his stomach. Though the difference in strength was visible in their frames, he’d not expected it to be quite so easy for Stanton to move him to his devices. He also had not expected the breathless, quiet moan it tore from his throat. Stanton halted.

“Alright?”

Barling nodded his head into the mattress. Stanton had drawn his hips up while Barling’s cheek was flat on the bed, fucking him from behind now, and Barling huffed his breath into the sheets, trying to find some purchase with his knees.

“Good God,” Stanton whispered. He halted for a moment and Barling had to stop himself from protesting at even the chance of pause; but Stanton only changed his angle, moving upwards between Barling’s legs to have his cock brush against Barling’s balls when he moved, and Barling felt his whole body tense with the fire shooting up his spine.

“Is that too rough?” Stanton asked, breathless.

“No, pl... no.”

Stanton laughed, his voice dark with arousal. “Just caught yourself,” he said, kissing his shoulder. “Don’t. I would love to hear you plead.”

“I’m sure you would,” Barling muttered, red-faced.

Heavens, Stanton wasn’t even in him and already he was weak-kneed and in little control of his tongue. This did not bode well for him in the future. Around Stanton, his walls were already crumbling.

“Can you squeeze tighter?”

Barling did as he was asked and Stanton gripped him again, held him fast, as he pushed between his legs a few more times, hard and deep, their skin slapping together. He spent himself between Barling’s thighs, the hot seed mixing with the oil between them, disorderly, unclean, the way Barling had not allowed himself to be for so long, but the thought of which now gave him a jolt of arousal, alongside the knowledge that he’d helped Stanton to reach his peak. It would have been enough, really, but even as Stanton caught his breath, lying flat against Stanton’s back, he trailed his hand down Barling’s stomach and touched his cock.

“It’s wet,” he murmured, rubbing the sticky drops along his length. “You lose more seed before your come than me.”

“There’s – some differences between men, I think,” Barling murmured.

His own only two examples where himself and Richard. However, he remembered that his own manhood would always be slick after Richard worked him over with his fist while Richard’s only released a bead or two. He wished now he could have been a better guide to Stanton instead of stumbling alongside him on this path, possibly the only time in his life he’d wished he had slept with more men.

With interest, Stanton rubbed his thumb along his cock. “I never thought of that,” he said. “But that makes sense, of course. Women’s bodies aren’t all the same, either. I’ll like finding out about you...”

He sat back a little. Barling supressed a sigh at the missing warmth and comfortable pressure at his back.

“Would it feel good if I fingered you?”

Perhaps the mention of women’s bodies had given Stanton the idea, Barling thought, as he peered over his shoulder. Stanton may have put his hands to good use there. For his part, the thought of Stanton’s fingers inside him had him shivering.

“Yes.”

Stanton pulled his finger along the inside of Barling’s thigh, collecting oil, and carefully dragged it up his cleft as he continued to stroke Barling’s manhood. Barling could tell from his reluctance that he was afraid of causing harm, and in truth after so long he had no idea how he’d take to this, but one finger was not too thick. The way Stanton’s fingertip stroked his entrance, carefully but insistent, sent the muscles in Barling’s back tight. Then Stanton pushed in.

It was not so much the sensation itself, which was merely a nice, dull pressure, but Stanton’s touch of his insides, exploring, teasing, stroking, that sent Barling off the cliff, gasping into the bed.

When he was done, Stanton let go and put his arms around Barling’s waist, pulling him up into his arms. Barling sagged against him, still catching his breath, and looked down at the mess they had made of his stomach, his thighs, the sheets.

“Good lord, I need to clean myself.”

“In a bit,” Stanton said languidly, kissing him on the ear. “We might go again, right?”

Barling would have protested the idea if he didn’t think that with a few quick touches like the ones he’d just experienced, Stanton could get him back to full hardness again, so after a moment’s hesitation he allowed himself to sink into the alluring warmth of Stanton’s embrace. They leaned against the wall together.

“You were less shy than you promised,” Barling said.

“I thought it would be much different, but it’s really not. It just makes me want to try out everything I don’t know yet.” He nudged Barling’s head with his. “You wouldn’t chastise me for being a good pupil for once, would you?”

Barling shook his head, thin smile on his lips.

“That would be quite counterproductive, I suppose.”

Stanton looked at him from the corner of his eyes.

“You really do like it like this, though, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“When a man plays with you like this. Or takes you. You don’t just do it thinking I would run away if you would do it to me? I’m not as easily scared as all that.”

The intent behind the question was good enough, though Barling resented that it forced him to answer truthfully, which was embarrassing.

“I do like it when the man I love makes me his,” he said, raising his chin, looking off at the wall. “And all adjacent... activities.”

Stanton laughed at his embarrassment and squeezed him around the middle.

“I would like that, too,” he said quietly. “For the one I love to be mine.”

Barling swallowed at how easy the words came over Stanton’s lips, and how honest they sounded. He didn’t quite know what he’d done in his life to deserve this, but he begged God that he would not pull it away again just yet.


End file.
